


You are Here

by starredthought



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Q Has a Fear of Flying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23984395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starredthought/pseuds/starredthought
Summary: “You must understand, Bond, that you and the agents aren’t the only ones in MI6 with trauma. Most of us were drawn to government service for our own private reasons.”James asks Q about his fear of flying, and regrets it
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 5
Kudos: 116





	You are Here

_Q’s afraid of flying._

_Of course he is._

* * *

“Why is it that you’re afraid of flying?”

The question came out of nowhere, as they laid in bed one night after James's most recent mission. The agent stroked the younger man’s hair and Q raised his chin to look at him.

“What kind of pillow talk is that?”

“The kind where I get to learn something new about you,” Bond replied. Q sighed and shifted himself up in bed to make better eye contact with Bond.

“Generally that would be ‘What was your ringtone song in 2007’ or ‘what did you want to be when you grow up’. Not ‘tell me about your phobia’.”

“Well, I’m here.” He said, wrapping his strong arms around Q. “Seems a good a time as any.”

Q sighed through tense lips and placed a hand on Bond’s back, stroking it silently for a moment. “I was 20 years old, set to have a term abroad working for Microsoft in Seattle. It was the longest flight I was ever on, scheduled for 15 hours with a connection in New York City.” He took a deep breath and looked James directly in the eye. “So on the 11th of September, I boarded a plane.”

James filled in the blank and his blood ran cold.

“The crew wouldn’t tell us what was going on. We were diverted into Newfoundland and we weren’t allowed off the plane until customs could be set up. Fifteen hours turned into twenty-four, breathing the same air as two hundred other panicking people. I’d promised my parents I would call once I arrived in Washington since I didn’t have a mobile. I had no way to tell them that my plane wasn’t the one they were seeing on the telly.” A shuttering breath escaped and James tightened his arms around him.

“The locals were nothing but kind, giving everything they had, their clothes, their food, their homes even. But all I could think as they kept replaying the same footage was how close we were to being that plane.” James could see his eyes start to glaze over as if he was seeing the images again in Kodachrome. “It was a week-long panic attack, stuck between the desire for time to continue and get back to life as it was and knowing that wasn't possible, on top of the thought that I had to get back on the plane.”

James felt the rise and fall of Q’s chest against his, his breathing more audible and his heart rate quickly rising. “Jesus, Q.” He put a hand on the back of Q’s head, pulling it into his shoulder so he could sob out of his line of sight. “I’m sorry. All the possible answers and I certainly didn’t expect that one.”

He couldn’t help but recall his own experience. He’d be in his early thirties himself, somehow between missions at home in London. He’d never seen MI6 in such an intense and frenzied state of lockdown. Phones ringing constantly for hours, days. Agents preparing to be deployed for search and rescue with the civilian emergency services. Everyone staring at the sky with utter terror because it was falling on the other side of the world. The same reel of film over,

And over,

And over.

But Bond had been strangely detached. He was expected to do almost exactly what he’d been training to do throughout his adulthood. Defend and protect. No lasting effects. Not in the scheme of everything else he experienced.

That wasn’t the case for Q. Hardly grown and thrown headfirst into a new world with no marching orders and nothing to go on. It was a far cry for the man he was now, the one with all the intel and access to the best defenses England could offer. He found himself wondering how much of Q’s brilliance was tapped into as a response to what he experienced.

He placed a chaste kiss on Q’s forehead with one final stroke of his curls. “Can I make you some tea?” James asked softly as Q’s movements quieted.

He didn’t answer immediately, but he lifted himself up to press his forehead to James’s. “Yes,” he croaked. “Thank you.”

“Chamomile?”

“Please.” Crawling over Q, James grabbed his robe from the back of the door and headed out into the darkened kitchen to put the kettle on. Q’s ginger cat, Alan, danced lithely between his legs as he leaned against the counter and watched the bubbles rise through the glass.

Q shuffled out in his own robe shortly after, clutching his Himalayan, Ada, tightly to his chest, like a child hugging their stuffed animal. He took a seat at the dining table and the cat settled further onto his chest. He rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses with his free hand, telling James he was tired but unable to sleep anytime soon.

James set his Scrabble mug down in front of him, which caused Ada to jump off his chest and dart back into the bedroom. As James took a seat across from Q, he saw him affix his eyes on the rising steam, remaining still and silent as a statue until he couldn’t see it anymore and he took a drink. He let his head roll back with a heavy sigh. James watched as he pressed his two long fingers to his lips, releasing them down to his side again with long, drawn-out exhale through pursed lips.

He took a chance on the observation. “You smoke?”

“Used to. Replaced it with tea shortly before taking up my post with MI6. Sometimes just going through the motions helps.”

“You’re just full of surprises,” he mused as he brought the mug to his lips, eyes smiling at the thought that Q had, at least at one point, a vice.

“You have no idea, James Bond.” James allowed the silence to grow warm and comfortable between them, a skill Q taught him early in their relationship as he dealt poorly with disruption. He kept an eye on him in the meantime, monitoring for signs of distress, but as the tea disappeared, so did his tension. A replacement for smoking indeed.

When he took his final sip, leaned back in his chair and turned his gaze from the empty mug back to Bond. “Feeling better?” the agent asked, tentative. Q returned with a look Bond knew all the too well, staring over the top of his glasses with raised brows that prompted Bond to make his own judgment and that he definitely still wasn’t pleased with him.

“Well enough to sleep, perhaps.” Q rose and washed out their empty mugs in the sink. “You must understand, Bond, that you and the agents aren’t the only ones in MI6 with trauma. Most of us were drawn to government service for our own private reasons.” James circled around to lean against the counter next to Q. “I gave up the prospect of a ‘normal’ life as a software developer because I realized then that wasn’t possible. Not so long as individuals could hijack planes out of the sky or breed terror on the ground and disrupt the lives of good, honest people.”

“You would have been wasted as a code monkey.” Q looked down toward their hands and slid it toward James’s, who covered it protectively.

“Appreciated.” James leaned in and kissed Q’s temple, eliciting a contented smile. “Bed?”

“Bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't listened to or seen the musical "Come From Away" PLEASE do yourself a service and do so.
> 
> Comments and kudos are adored! Thanks for reading!


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